A Thousand Steps to Paradise
by Razzaroo
Summary: War. War never changes. For 200 years, Roderich Edelstein has been shielded from the world in a huge underground Vault. When Basch Zwingli escapes, Roderich finds himself catapulted into the horrors of the wastes that the warheads left behind. Armed with only a hunting rifle, he sets off across the wastes and sets into motion a chain of events that will change the wasteland forever
1. Prologue

**Roderich Edelstein: Level One, Vault Dweller**

**Strength: 3**

**Perception: 6**

**Endurance: 2**

**Charisma: 8**

**Intelligence: 7**

**Agility: 4**

**Luck: 5**

EuroVault 99 wasn't a bad place to live. Sure, it wasn't as sturdy as anything built for America but none of the EuroVaults were. Yes, there were problems with mutated insects like the giant cockroaches but the security could easily deal with those; the EuroVault wouldn't fall to them yet. And, yes, maybe the Overseer could be a little too domineering at times but it was all for the good of the residents really. Despite all this, EuroVault 99 really wasn't a bad place to live.

Unless you live in it for almost 200 years.

Roderich Edelstein, personification of the Republic of Austria, remembered life before the war. Living in the vault, he was the resident musician, providing concerts and entertainment tapes for the human residents. Sebastian Zwingli, personification of the Swiss Confederation, acted as a security officer. Both of them had been completely isolated from the world outside, from others of their kind, for 200 years.

Roderich rolled over on his narrow bed, crumpling the sheets beneath him. All of the grandeur and opulence of the old world he had lived in now existed only in his memories, in fragments: a rainbow cast over his floors through a crystal glass window; concerts in the elegant opera house in Vienna; visits to a French art gallery with Kugelmugel. His elegant suits had been long abandoned in the wardrobe of his house after he'd been moved into the EuroVault, left to rot and fester in the intervening two centuries. Now, he only had the standard issue EuroVault jumpsuit (dark green in colour, with a white 99 stitched on the back) and black work boots. A PipBoy was firmly clamped on his right arm, the screen constantly giving off a soft blue glow.

He pushed the dial on his PipBoy, scrolling through the data tab. He skipped past the map of the EuroVault, past the empty world map, scrolling to the "Notes" tab. He flicked through the notes and audio logs to find the photographs of his younger brother.

"Looking at those pictures again, Roderich?" Basch asked as he entered the room, shrugging off the security armour, "I'm surprised you haven't memorised them; you've had them for over a century now."

Roderich looked back down at the photo on the screen. It showed Kugelmugel as a young adult, standing with his sweetheart, smeared in paint and smiling at the camera. The mural that he'd painted was still on the walls in the maintenance room, faded over time. Roderich was grateful that most people weren't allowed there anymore; the sight of it would probably close his throat and fill his eyes with hot tears.

"You'd do the same," Roderich said, sitting up and switching the screen off, "I know you would."

Basch glared at him, "I would but I _can't_. Lili never made it."

Roderich didn't dare touch on that. He'd liked Liechtenstein too and he understood how much it hurt Basch knowing that his sister was more than likely long dead.

Basch huffed and shoved his armour into the clanging metal wardrobe, setting the helmet on the tiny shelf. Underneath the armour, his jumpsuit was too loose, cut for a man much bigger than him. Considering how long they'd been in the EuroVault, the Overseer had had to recycle jumpsuits from other residents when theirs became too worn. Basch sank into the worn chair next to the small round table, picking up the shot glass and the bottle of whiskey that Roderich had left there. The dark amber liquid in the bottle was at dangerously low levels.

"You'll run out," Roderich warned, masking his concern for Basch with concern over their alcohol, "And the storeroom doesn't look as if it has much more."

Basch dismissed him with a wave of his hand and unscrewed the lid of the bottle. He poured out a splash of the whiskey into the glass before capping the bottle again. He peered over the rim of glass.

"I know how to save it," he said, knocking the whiskey back and swallowing it in one go, "Unlike a certain Austrian I know."

Roderich sniffed, "It takes more than one swallow of whiskey to even give me a buzz, let alone take the edge off of anything."

He stood up and popped a crick out of his back. He was needed in the music room and it seemed Basch would be in a mood for the rest of the afternoon; 200 years without natural sunlight, away from his land and his beloved sister had hardly done wonders for the already moody nation.

The door hissed closed behind him, sliding down into place again. The twisting halls were a dull, never ending grey, a colour that had driven Kugelmugel crazy with how boring it was, that was just made worse by the sickly glow of the lights. The lights were meant to emulate the feel and effect of sunlight but Roderich knew that wasn't the case. He remembered sunlight, unlike everyone else in the EuroVault who'd never seen the outside, and the lights were nothing like its warmth. Behind doors and thick windows, he could hear the murmur of voices and the rustling scuttle of the cockroaches. Roderich shuddered; he'd hated cockroaches before the war but now, now that they were the size of housecats, they were a dozen times worse.

He made his way through the grimy cafeteria. Most of the tables were empty, apart from the one tucked against the thick window by the jukebox, where a young man sat with a bottle of vodka. He raised the bottle in a toast as Roderich passed him before taking a swig from the bottle. A Mr. Handy robot hovered behind the linoleum counter, stacking some dirty plates by a shallow sink. Roderich heard the low whirring as the robot turned to speak with him.

"Good afternoon sir!" the robot said, the sphere of its body dipping, mimicking a bow, "I have a message for you from _Frau _Hase. She asked me to tell you of the fact that Liesel may be running late for her music lesson today. She's taken ill, you see."

Roderich nodded, "All right. Thanks. I'll wait for her in the music room."

The Mr. Handy bobbed again before it went back to its dishes. Roderich left the cafeteria, walking straight past the empty class room and the doctor's clinic towards the small room reserved for his music. There was an old piano shoved into the room with some battered music books for his use. He knew all the tunes off by heart, of course, but he'd taken on students during his time in the vault.

He took a seat on the low, steel stool in front of the piano, running his fingers over the keys. This was the last remnant of his pre-war life, brought into the EuroVault for his sake. He remembered those early days, when he still had Kugelmugel with him, and they'd sat in this room for hours, with Kugelmugel willing to just sit and listen to those soft piano melodies. He didn't even notice that Liesel had entered the room until she coughed softly to get his attention.

Liesel was a slight girl, twelve years of age, with a cloud of red hair and electric blue eyes. Her jumpsuit always seemed to be too big for her, no matter how much she claimed she'd groan. When Roderich had first met her, she'd been a girl of few words, preferring to just play music rather than speak to anyone.

"I hope you're feeling better," Roderich said, standing to let her take the stool.

"Yeah, I am," Liesel said, her voice hoarse and throaty, "It was just something silly. Mama blew it way out of proportion."

Roderich smiled and leant against the wall beside the piano, "Start with a simple warm up."

Liesel took a deep breath before setting her fingers on the keys. The music was quiet, sweet and familiar. Roderich closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall behind him. For a moment, he can just relax and remember his life before the war, where his only worries were whether Prussia would barge in and traipse mud over his kitchen floor and not about when he and Basch would have to move to another part of the EuroVault to prevent too much suspicion about how they never aged.

In the background, he registered a faint announcement over the static of the PA system, something from the Overseer about a card game night in the cafeteria tomorrow. Liesel's playing became more confident, faster, louder. He opened his eyes to see her determined expression, her mouth set in a line, focussed on the music. Her music lessons help make life in the EuroVault tolerable; they provide an escape from Basch, form the Overseer, from the reality of the world outside. They provide genuine good times in this underground prison.

Little did Roderich know, this piano lesson would be his last good time.

* * *

**A/N. Do you know what I need to stop doing? Writing new stories when I still have multiple WIPs. Do you know what I probably won't stop doing? Writing new stories when I still have multiple WIPs. Ah, well. I don't own Hetalia or the Fallout-verse. I'm just playing with them.**


	2. Out of the Frying Pan

**A/N. In which I introduce my gimmick of levelling up at the end of chapters. Don't worry, it won't happen every time.**

* * *

He was dragged back into Hell, after 200 years of sanctuary in the dreary EuroVault, in the quietest hours of the morning. He'd been curled up asleep on his bunk, his PipBoy digging into the flesh of his cheek, when he was dragged awake by a pair of rough hands shaking his shoulders. Blinking blearily against the dim overhead lights, Roderich grabbed his glasses from the bedside table and shoved them onto his face.

One of Basch's officers was standing over him, a stocky man with a face like Frankenstein's monster. A hunting rifle was slung over one shoulder.

"Get up," he said gruffly, "You need to go."

Roderich frowned, puzzled, but he stood up anyway. He straightened his glasses and scrutinised the guard in front of him. The man took the rifle off of his shoulder and shoved it into Roderich's hands. Roderich stumbled back slightly from the force of the motion but he was just made more puzzled.

"You've to get out of here," the man said again, "The captain's gone, the Overseer's furious and people are out for your blood. It's not safe here anymore."

Well, he could have waited a little longer before dropping that atom bomb. Roderich glanced over to Basch's cot; indeed, the sheets were rumpled, the pillow squashed and Basch very obviously absent. The wardrobe hung open and the other nation's security armour was gone. Roderich felt his knees go shaky.

'_Basch, what have you done?' _he thought, his grip tightening on the hunting rifle.

The guard grabbed hold of Roderich's collar, thrusting him out of the apartment and into the gleaming hallway. Over the PA system, he could hear the Overseer warning all residents to stay in their quarters while the security threat was dealt with. Further down the hall, around a corner, he could hear angry shouts. He swallowed down his fear.

"I'm doing this because I respected the captain," the man said, giving Roderich a shove between his shoulder blades, "I can give you a head start. Get to the entrance and get out of this vault."

Roderich took a few shaky steps forward while the guard rounded the corner to confront the crowd. He felt nausea roiling in his stomach. He couldn't believe Basch had bolted; while he'd been moody and withdrawn the previous evening, there'd been no clue about this. Roderich had just assumed that Liechtenstein was weighing on his mind again.

He shifted his hold on the rifle and crept through the open door at the end of the hall, into the cafeteria. Rather than the gloom of the cafeteria at night, he was greeted by a blaze of fire. He yelped and ducked behind an overturned table. The Mr. Handy floated in the middle of the cafeteria, flamethrower glowing, and a couple of giant cockroaches in a burnt and blackened heap on the floor. Roderich exhaled, glad the robot wasn't hostile to him.

"Good morning, sir," the robot said when Roderich edged past him, "I'd take care if I were you; the insects are particularly bad this night."

Roderich pulled an '_I'm busy!'_ face and quickly continued out of the cafeteria. The warning lights on the ceilings had started up, casting dim red flashes over the walls. Roderich's heart jumped into his throat. Every nerve in his body was aflame with fear and his skin crawled as he crept along the corridor, the rifle at the ready. The cockroaches scuttled around on the floor, some of them crunching beneath his boots. He felt sick.

"Mr Edelstein?" a small voice petered out from behind a row of metal tool cabinets. Roderich turned to see Liesel standing there, her red hair tugged back in a ponytail and her blue eyes fearful.

"Liesel," he said, "You shouldn't be out here. The cockroaches are out and…and there's trouble. It's not safe."

Liesel glanced towards the rifle before her eyes turned to Roderich's face, "Is it true what they're saying?"

Roderich looked back along the hallway. He could spare a couple of minutes, he was certain of it, "What are they saying?"

"That," Liesel's lip wobbled and she had to take a deep breath to calm herself, "That you're not _right_. And that it's people like _you_ who caused the war."

Roderich was ready to explain when a pair of hands grabbed hold of Liesel's shoulders, pulling her back.

"Liesel, get away from him," her mother said, glaring at Roderich, "Never leave without my permission again, do you understand?"

Liesel protested, squirming against her mother's hold. A pang of hurt sprang up in Roderich's chest at the sight of the mistrust and anger in the woman's eyes. He glanced down at the PipBoy on his wrist, checking the map. It was pointing him along this corridor, through maintenance, in order to get to the entrance, the pointer flashing white against the screen. He frowned; he didn't remember setting that marker. Something at the back of his mind told him that Basch had set this up, predicting this sort of outcome for him.

He heard boots coming along the hallways behind him and he bolted before he could say anything else to the pair. At the other end of the hall, a couple of cockroaches hissed out of the shadows and Roderich let his boot crunch down on the head of one, skipping over the other.

He hated the EuroVault at night.

When he burst into maintenance, he'd been expecting to find more security. Instead, he found it to be empty. The monitors hummed and glowed faintly. In the dim lights, Roderich could just make out the outline of Kugelmugel's old mural on the wall. He swallowed and sealed the door shut behind him, crouching down to keep out of sight of the thick glass windows. There were never any cockroaches in here; there was something about the maintenance room that deterred them, sending them scurrying along the steel hallways, rustling against the doors, hissing at the lights.

He crouched down by one of the heaving machines that filtered the air supply, watching one of the doors. Through that door, it's just one hallway and a console to freedom. He could practically see the looming steel door, could practically feel the memory of wind across his face.

The door that he'd just come through opened again with a rush and Roderich could hear the click of a gun, the whisper of breath, the thud of boots. He shrank back against the machines, feeling the hum of it in every fibre of his being, trembling in his bones.

"He has to be in here," one of the guards said, "That door was not left closed earlier."

Roderich sucked in a silent breath and slowly, carefully put a bullet into the chamber of the hunting rifle. His pulse thumped in his ears and his blood rushed. After being safe for 200 years, the idea of being hunted in this steel maze is terrifying. He propped the muzzle of the gun on his knee and waited.

One pair of boots rounded the corner and Roderich swung the end of the rifle up, pointing it at the man's face. He could feel his hands trembling.

"There you are—," the man said, his mouth curling up into a grin.

Roderich pulled the trigger of the gun, knocked backwards by the recoil. The rifle exploded with a flash and a stench of gunpowder, the man falling back, his face replaced with a bloody crater. Roderich felt like he was going to be sick but the sound of boots charging towards him from the other side of the maintenance room spurred him on. He scrambled to his feet towards the door, falling through as it hissed open. He hit the polished floor with a thud, the hunting rifle skittering away from him.

A gunshot behind him and the rush of a bullet over his head made him flinch. He pushed himself to his feet and snatched up the rifle.

"By the orders of the Overseer," the guard said, aiming his pistol at Roderich, "I command you to stop."

Roderich held the rifle close to his chest, taking in the fear in the guard's eyes for a moment before he bolted again, hurtling towards the steel door that sealed EuroVault 99 away from the rest of the world. More voices joined the lone guard behind him.

He stumbled down the steel steps that descend to the console, his boots creating a rattling echo. He skidded to a halt by the console, slinging the rifle over his shoulder, leaving it to hang by the strap. The guards burst through the door and he frantically punched in the passcode. The console buzzed and Roderich felt his mouth go dry, his palms go clammy.

The passcode changed, for the first time in 200 years. Was it Basch? The Overseer? Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the guards.

None of them had descended the steps. Instead, they stood on the metal grating above him, their pistols trained on him. One of them lifted his visor.

"Come on now, Edelstein," he said, "We know what you are; the Overseer told us everything. We don't want you hurt."

"I'm sure," Roderich said coldly, despite the dryness of his mouth, "Which is why you were chasing me with guns."

"Ah, now, you have a gun too," the guard said, holstering his own, "We respected Zwingli. He was a good chief. He clearly didn't want you hurt. You're in enough trouble as it is; don't make it any worse for yourself."

"Trouble?" the mention of Basch had set off a light bulb in Roderich's brain, "You're the ones who've been scaring people."

"The world out there is dangerous," one of the other guards said, voice muffled by his helmet, "People like you made it dangerous. We're doing our job to keep this Vault and the people here safe."

Roderich's fingers found the keypad on the console again and moved over it, pushing in the numbers that he hoped, prayed would make that door open: _128128_. The guards just watch him, the one with his visor up just looking smug, as if there was no way he could ever open the door. There was a brief pause, a moment of quiet.

Suddenly, there was the blaring of an alarm and the bulbs on the ceiling lit up, rotating behind the thick protective glass that contained them. There was a hiss of steam and a turret descended from overhead. The smug look on the man's face fell.

"The bastard's opened the door!" he shouted, pulling his visor down to protect him from the steam and whatever could get in from the world outside, "Shoot!"

Roderich ducked his head and the sound of gunfire was drowned out by shrieking metal as the door moved inwards before rolling aside. The bullets missed, striking the metal around him as the guard's vision was obstructed by the steam clouding their visors. One, however, managed to strike his shoulder and he cried out in pain, pressing one hand against his shoulder. Blood welled up from the injury, spreading warm and wet under his hand.

Before any of them have a chance to recover and take aim again, Roderich turned, his face creased in pain, and leapt out through the opening left by the door.

This was his first step in the world outside the EuroVault for over 200 years.

_**Level up: Vault Renegade. New perk added: Gun Nut - +5 Small Guns, +5 Repair.**_


	3. And Into the Ashes

He stepped out into a dusty tunnel, reinforced by steel posts. The air smelt stale and dusty. He took a few faltering steps, the pain in his shoulder throbbing and resounding throughout his whole body. He'd long forgotten the searing agony of being shot and it made it difficult to carry on.

He took his hand away from his shoulder, trying to avoid looking at the blood, to switch on his PipBoy light. Behind him, Roderich could hear the guards talking, refusing to leave the perceived safety of the EuroVault. After a few moments, the door shrieked closed again.

Roderich was left alone in the dark tunnel, with only his PipBoy light for company. When he tried to retune with the EuroVault PA system, he got nothing but crackling static.

Basch's passage had left footprints in the dust, creating a clear trail in the thick grey dust towards the exist. By the greenish light of his PipBoy, he followed Basch's trail, literally following in his footsteps. The ground beneath his boots was rough and uneven. He took care to keep his feet in the imprints left by Basch, unwilling to disturb the sleeping earth any more than it had been already.

The footprints eventually led Roderich to a steel ladder, dull in the light of the PipBoy but otherwise devoid of rust. Roderich looked behind him. The EuroVault had been lost in the murky darkness of the tunnel. And, along with the EuroVault, his little brother's ashes…

Roderich shook his head. Even if he'd had time to prepare for an escape, it wouldn't have been safe to bring Kugelmugel's ashes with him; they could have been lost in the escape and besides, he didn't know what the world outside looked like any more. It might not have been safe for the ashes of the micronation.

He started climbing the ladder, his weight slipping precariously on the thin steel rungs. It felt sturdy enough; Bash had managed to climb it, or at least Roderich was assuming he had since he hadn't met the other nation in the narrow tunnel. The metal was freezing beneath his hands. At the top of the ladder, he found a trapdoor that opened with just a push of his hand. His muscles burnt as he hauled himself through the door, unused to the physical effort that it took.

"I've gotten so old," he muttered.

The trapdoor opened up into the floor of an old mechanics garage. An old car is pressed up against the wall and Roderich stood up to examine it. Seeing it brought back a rush of memories of the old world and he found himself wanting to cry. The car was absolutely caked in rust and the interior was ghostly with dust. The hunting rifle dug into his back when he slid to the floor, pulling his knees close and sobbing into the material of his jumpsuit.

The garage was cold but at least it was safe. Roderich sat huddled against the car, watching the door. His PipBoy told him that it was half past four in the morning. If the sun still rose at the same time it had in the old world, then he should have only two more hours until he could venture out into the light.

The thought caused a coil of dread to curdle in his stomach.

* * *

When he woke up, his neck aching, the sound of the wind howled around the garage and thunder rolled and moaned overhead. A thunderstorm. It had been so long, he'd almost forgotten them. Roderich stood up and rolled his shoulders.

The sound of his boots echoed off of the walls of the garage. Roderich paused before he opened the side door before he approached some ramshackle metal shelves leaning against the wall. He rifled through a toolbox on the lower shelf; he turned up a couple of lawn mower blades, a handful of bobby pins and a bundle of scrap metal. He frowned. That was a strange assortment to find. He'd been expecting hammers, screw drivers, nails.

He shrugged his good shoulder and slipped the items into the pack slung over his waist anyway. He didn't know what was awaiting him outside of these walls and he had no idea when these items could come in handy. Zipping up the pack again, he returned to the door.

It was time to face the world.

He took a deep breath, bracing himself for any horrors he might be faced with. His injured shoulder throbbed and burned when he turned the door handle and Roderich felt tears spring up in his eyes. The door's hinges creaked and wailed after 200 years of being unused. The outside air that ghosted over Roderich's face was chilled, carrying the metallic wet scent of rain. It was familiar and refreshing and, closing his eyes, Roderich could pretend that the world outside was going to be exactly as he'd left it.

The first thing he saw was a decimated road sign, the paint long since flaked or scorched off, the metal blackened and discoloured by rust. Beyond that, he could see the shells of pre-war houses and a cracked bitumen road. When he stepped out of the garage, the rainwater mingled with the blood from his shoulder, turning a murky pink colour as it drizzled down onto the road.

Roderich hitched the strap of the rifle across his back and took a few shaky steps onto the road. After living so long with smooth, metal surfaces the uneven road surface seemed alien and completely unnatural. The smell of the rain was achingly familiar but there was also something wrong about it; the metallic edge was stronger, sicklier.

Roderich wrinkled his nose and covered his injured shoulder with his hand, trying his best to keep the rain off of it. As he walked through the ruined town, he searched for a name, any sort of indication of where he'd emerged; it had been so long since he'd entered the EuroVault that he couldn't recall where the entrance was hidden.

An old Protectron stood in what had once been a garden in front of a ruined house; all the remained of the structure was a cracked foundation and the rotting skeleton.

"…Friendliest town in the Wastes," the Protectron was saying. Roderich paused, "Down the road, follow the sign."

Roderich frowned. Unless the robot had wandered far from its original post, the people who had reprogrammed it must be living nearby. Of course, that was no guarantee that they'd be friendly but he had to risk it; it could lead him to Basch. He looked down along the road, squinting through the rain. He could make out an outline of a town through the mist of the rain.

When he set off again, the robot followed him, rattling when it rolled over bumps and cracks in the bitumen. Roderich tried to ignore it, instead focussing on carrying on walking despite his faltering strength and the pain in his shoulder.

"Hungry? Thirsty? Tired? Try Chiara's, finest inn in these parts," the robot droned.

Roderich moved his hand from his shoulder to push his damp hair from his eyes. With the other hand, he gripped the rifle strap, his arm shaking. The light from his PipBoy was faint and sickly in the rain.

"Need a doctor? See Doctor Eszes; first class checkups for low prices."

He could feel his feet starting drag and his head was getting lightheaded. The robot was nearly on top of him now. A rusted corrugated iron sign was standing at the side of the road. It read "_Bodennullpunkt" _in large, hand painted red letters. A small light winked at the top of a ramshackle metal building, looming over a fence made of patched iron.

"Looking for some ammo? Look in the Glass Cannon for all of your weapon needs."

Roderich's knees buckled and collapsed underneath him. His shoulder blazed with pain and the robot stopped alongside him. Blood from his shoulder ran out onto the road, combining with the rain water to form dull rivulets that smeared against the caterpillar treads of the Protectron which loomed over him.

"Need help?" the robot's monotonous voice was thick and muffled as Roderich slid further into unconsciousness, "Ask and I'll do what I can."


	4. Radio: Basch from 99 and a PSA

Good morning, wasteland! It's me, your awe-inspiring host, the all knowing Prussian Blue, greeting you on this beautiful morning!

Now that we've got that bullshit out of the way, time to move on to the news.

To those of you who have fallen off of the grapevine, out towards the old border, right outside of Bodennullpunkt, there's this old EuroVault from before the war. Number 99 to be absolutely precise. This rathole still has people livin' in it, believe it or not; tough to believe something designed by the Americans lasted so long, huh? Vault-Tec would have been better off using German designs but, hey, I might just be a little bit biased.

Anyway, for some weird reason, Bodennullpunkt sometimes sees some folk scrambling out of that hole every now and then. Yeah, I know, who'd leave the safety of a vault for this shithole, right? Well, kiddies, it's happened again and guess who he went to visit? If you guessed me, congratulations. You win the prize of being right.

My new best buddy's name is Basch and the poor guy's been stuck in the warren for years. He was a little bit lost and, you know, generally mind blown about what those nasty nukes did to the world up here. So, naturally I, the greatest and most helpful person in the wasteland, lent him a helping hand to get his bearings. I told him who was who, what was what and where his priorities should lie.

Though whether he listened to me is a different story. I know that a lot of my advice falls on deaf ears.

So if you see a moody blond guy with too much firepower for his size out there in the beautiful Central Wastes, give him a smile and hello. Be gentle with him. Answer any questions he might have. We were all newbies to this once, remember.

Oh, and in case you're tryin' to hatch a cunning plan to break into the home sweet home that is EuroVault 99, I suggest you chuck those blueprints right now. The vault wasn't ready to open for Basch and it sure as fuck ain't ready to welcome _**you **_with open arms. And unless you've got plenty of mininukes and a death wish, that door won't budge without a passcode so forget about trying to break it down; that thing is probably heavier than your entire settlement can ever dream of being.

And now for our hourly public help announcement. Keep your ears open, this stuff could save your life one day. Now, kiddies, remember that when a gang of raiders comes rat-a-tat-tatting on your front door, there should be no shame in hiding under a bed with the biggest fucking gun you have and hoping that they go away. Folk like raiders can't be bought, bullied, reasoned or negotiated with so there's no fucking use trying. You just tuck that white flag away because raiders don't care for it, unless it fits nicely around your throat.

Until we meet again, this is Prussian Blue, saying goodbye and good luck.

* * *

_A/N. Well, I've made it all too obvious who my radio host is. What is he doing in Austria? Why is he a radio host? Where is he broadcasting from? There will be answers, trust me on this one._


End file.
